Chapter 2: Crossing Over and Scheming
To mortals, demon gods were legends—beings of wisdom and might who could shape the world with a thought.
And sitting beside Ye Ze was the greatest of them all: Liyue's Rock King, Morax.
"So," Zhongli asked, calm as stone, "you refuse to accompany me to Sky Island?"
Ye Ze folded his arms, sulking. "Not a chance. That old Tianli tricked me into six hundred years of free labor. If I saw him again, I'd punch him on sight. Better I stay here."
"…Very well." Zhongli rose.
Ye Ze caught his sleeve. "Wait. My plan's ready. Help me gather the gods—it's time."
"So it begins," Zhongli murmured, but when he turned again Ye Ze tugged him back once more.
"And say hi to Wendy and Xiaoshu for me. Wendy you can skip."
A muscle twitched in Zhongli's jaw. "Perhaps list everything at once."
"Fine, fine. That's it. Promise."
"Good." He left with the weight of a mountain, bound for Sky Island.
The instant he vanished, Ye Ze tossed aside his cup, grabbed the whole teapot, and drank straight from it. Then, without shame, he swept the Emperor's prized tea stash into his bag.
"The old man only gets more handsome," he sighed.
Ye Ze wasn't a god. He wasn't a mortal either. He was… a traveler.
Not the chosen-hero type. His story started with a runaway truck—inside his dorm room. Even now, after millennia in Teyvat, he couldn't explain how it climbed the stairs. If he ever found the driver, he'd file a complaint for malicious delivery.
When he woke, he wasn't reborn as a hero but as something worse: Teyvat's own World Consciousness.
Naïve, overwhelmed, he let Heavenly Principle chain him, even let Tianli stick him with the name "Yuanshen." What self-respecting traveler agreed to that? Zero stars. Would not recommend.
Six centuries of unpaid labor later, his memories returned—and so did his fury. Yet he endured. Without Tianli's fake sky, Teyvat would collapse into the abyss. For the world's sake, he bowed no more but stayed silent.
His crossing had bent history anyway. Fewer demon gods rose, fewer wars were fought. The so-called Demon War fizzled before it truly burned.
But Ye Ze had his own reasons to remain. One reason.
The Emperor.
Zhongli's flawless youth had stolen his reason from the start. Since then, Ye Ze followed him shamelessly, telling himself it was repayment for six centuries of toil. Truthfully? He was just a fan.
He still roamed—Mondstadt's taverns, Inazuma's shrines, Sumeru's forests, Fontaine's canals—but Liyue was always home.
"The Emperor is unfairly handsome." He slapped his cheeks, dragging his mind back to business.
The war was over, but one shadow lingered: Khaenri'ah.
Draining ley lines, flirting with the Abyss, naming slaughter "progress." They wore righteousness like a mask, but Ye Ze wasn't fooled. If Dainsleif loathed the gods, he should've looked closer at his own nation.
Ye Ze tilted his gaze toward the sky where Zhongli flew. "The plan begins. This time, I'll lead the charge to save Teyvat."
With that, he tucked the last of the stolen tea into storage and slipped back to his cave.
Far above, Zhongli slowed, a sudden chill brushing his neck. He frowned.
…The tea. I forgot the tea.